


Day Labor

by akelios



Series: Odd Jobs [3]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Penetration, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you enjoy a job more than you thought you would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Labor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forestgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/gifts).



“Five grand. Cash.”

I stared across the table at Hendricks, trying to keep the surge of hope off of my face. It was hard. I was getting kind of desperate, truth be told. Things in the P.I. business hadn't been so hot and the Beetle had needed new tires and major repairs to the engine. Stupid ice monsters. That was on top of rent and repairs to my apartment after a minor potion accident. Things were way beyond tight. Five grand would take care of it and leave me with a little in the bank.

Shit.

“I don't appreciate you assholes spying on me.”

“Not spying.” Hendricks spread his hands, showing them open and harmless. Ha. “I'm offering to pay you what I think a night with you is worth to the Boss. End of story.”

“I don't do that anymore. Not for a few years.”

“One night only. No attachments. Nothing comes back to bite anyone on the ass.” He slid an envelope across the table. “The address and room number is in there. They'll have a key waiting at the front desk for you. If you haven't picked it up by eight then don't bother showing up.”

~

I was in the room by seven thirty.

Hendricks wasn't there and neither was Marcone, so I took the opportunity to explore the place. A simple enough suite; living room, two bedrooms, two baths and a small kitchen space. It was both larger and nicer than my apartment. But then most places were.

I settled my staff into one corner and stripped off my coat, laying it over the back of one of the couches. Hendricks hadn't spelled it out but I figured he'd paid the concierge to let him know when I showed up. That way, if I didn't then he could take Marcone somewhere else or call in for other entertainment.

Hells bells. I scrubbed my hands over my face and headed for the kitchen. The fridge was fully stocked and I pulled out a beer. It was good, thick and rich as I swallowed and tried to distract myself from what I was doing. What I was going to do with Marcone. Hells bells.

It wasn't like I didn't still have contacts. I could set up a few dates and make the money that way. But there'd be the expectation that I was coming back to the life. I'd have to go through the process of telling everyone I wasn't all over again. Run into people that wanted to see me and have to disappoint them. It would be annoying and a terrible thing to do. I'd just barely managed to convince everyone that I was out for real; to go back now would make it seem like a lie. The boy who cried wolf, sort of.

Half an hour and two beers later I heard the click of the door as it opened. I leaned back on the couch and set by beer down on the end table, making sure that the coaster was under it. No reason to make anyone elses' life worse than it had to be.

“What is this?” Marcone froze in the entryway, his eyes fastened on me. I smiled and spread my arms along the back of the couch, crossing my legs at the ankles as I stretched out. I could see Marcone's eyes following my movements. Of course they were. I'd known what Marcone wanted from me since that one afternoon in my office. I'd never really thought that what I'd done had dissuaded him. What I hadn't realized until this moment was that I'd made it worse.

“Your present, Boss.” Cujo's huge form moved into view as he shut the door behind them. I had a half glimpse of men outside the door. Marcone was always well guarded, even here.

“No.” Marcone stepped to one side, turning to keep both Hendricks and myself in his sights. “Mr. Dresden has made his feelings toward me very clear. I will not-”

“Cujo made me an offer I couldn't refuse, Marcone. I'm here willingly.” I smiled, showing all my teeth and rose in one long movement from the couch. Marcone's eyes followed me as I walked slowly across the room to him. I nodded slightly at Hendricks and circled Marcone, taking him in. Hendricks got out of the way, heading into the kitchen himself. I heard him in the fridge, bottles clinking together. It was just background noise as I focused on Marcone. “One night only. Just you, me and...will Mr. Hendricks be joining us? Is that how the game is played here?”

I walked around in front of him and stood facing him square on. He raised his eyes to stare into my own. There was no magical pull of a Soulgaze. Just the pull of his personality. It was enough to make me want him. It always had been. One of the reasons I avoided Marcone as much as possible.

I touched his cheek, moving slowly as I ran my fingers along his jaw. The faint hint of stubble tugged at my skin, a pleasant roughness. He didn't shudder, didn't give any sign that he even felt my touch. That wouldn't do at all. I stepped in closer, still moving slowly enough that he could back off if he wanted to. One good rule to live by: never make a dangerous person feel trapped. They tended to react badly.

When Marcone didn't stab me, shoot me or otherwise make it clear that he didn't want me in his personal space I leaned down and kissed him. I know there's a whole thing about escorts not kissing clients, but I'd never had a problem with it. Kissing is a good gauge of how a person is going to react. It gives you one of the first real insights into what they're going to be like as a lover.

It surprised Marcone, that much was obvious. He froze, the stillness of his lips against mine more of a sign than anything else he'd given me so far. I took the lead, pressing in just a little harder, encouraging him to respond, to open up to me. It was a fight, but a quiet one. Marcone did move, but it wasn't to take control, as I'd assumed he would.

No. Marcone's hands came up to rest on my arms, hot through the thin cloth of my shirt; sweat sprang up on my skin beneath his touch. There was only that heat and the barest awareness of pressure to even tell me that he was touching me. He made no move to grab, to dig his fingers into my flesh and _own_. Marcone touched me as if he were afraid I would vanish if he tried too hard.

His lips parted beneath mine almost reluctantly. I felt the sigh of breath nearly as much as I heard it as he breathed into me; hot, foreign breath scouring my mouth and carrying with it a little of his essence. I breathed it in, tasting a little spice beneath the freshness of spearmint. Marcone's mouth grew more firm against mine, pressing more confidently. It was more like what I had expected from the beginning. I let Marcone take the lead for a second, testing him.

He didn't bite, didn't turn it into an attack. Marcone just asserted himself the way confident men always did. He forced people to take notice just by being worthy of being noticed. I didn't always like that about him, but here I could work with it. I pressed back, just enough to offer challenge. My hands settled on his waist, drawing him in closer to my body.

It didn't surprise me to find that Marcone was already growing hard. I slid my thigh just a bit to the side, just enough to tease the muscle of my leg across the sensitive rise of his erection. Marcone hissed and dug his fingers into my arms. I smiled against his lips and nipped at his tongue as he withdrew, pulling away.

When we parted, both breathing a little fast I didn't let go right away. I trailed my hands down his arms, savoring the feeling of expensive cloth beneath my hands. His skin was a little rougher than the fabric, the texture a delightful contrast. I stepped back a little, enough that we could look at each other again.

“I'm going to take off your jacket, John.” A small smile flickered across his face. Here I could call him John. Here I could touch him. I liked touching; I liked it more than I should. It was strange, my need to touch people. It had bothered Ebenezar. He hadn't liked being touched and I'd learned not to do it. But with the girls I'd met in town, and a few of the boys, I'd been able to touch as much as I liked.

I moved behind him, tracing a line up one of his arms and over his shoulders. There were faint rises beneath the fabric, invisible to the eye but very much there. His gun holster. I took hold of the collar of his shirt and pulled at it carefully. Just enough pressure to do the job, assuming that Marcone would let me.

He rolled his shoulders, helping me take the jacket off. I rewarded him with a firm brush of my fingers over the back of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. A pleased noise came from across the room. I turned my head to look at Hendricks. He was sprawled on the couch, cold beer in hand. His legs were spread, just a little. Inviting. I swallowed, suddenly a little shaky. Cujo was hard, beneath his thousand dollar suit.

“Boss gets what he wants for his birthday, Dresden.” He pressed the cold bottle of beer to the inside of one thigh. I could see him flinch a little against the cold as he rolled it over the cloth and I imagined how it felt. The contrast of that cold hardness against the heat of his muscle and skin. The wet as it seeped through the fabric of his slacks. Made it rougher, made it stick to his skin. My hands were steady as I turned and draped Marcone's jacket over the nearest chair. “ _Everything_ he wants.”

The holster was a striking black against the white of his shirt, framing it and making it seem even brighter than it really was. A pure thing wrapped around an impure man. The leather of the holster was warm from being next to his body. I stroked it as though it were a part of him, learning the small stitching that held it together, the faint nicks and dents from years of use. It slid from his shoulders with a sigh.

I loved undressing people. The chance to touch, to tease them into a gentle frenzy with the lightest brushes against their skin. Marcone, for all that he was a self controlled lunatic was still a man. His cuff links were heavy in my hand as I slipped them into his pocket. The cloth of his shirt was perfectly smooth beneath my hands as I pushed it open over his chest; slid my hands up underneath it and around, feeling the softness of the cotton undershirt he wore.

There were knives at the small of his back in a strange sort of sheath. I didn't play with them any more than I had to, just ran my hands up his back on either side. Marcone breathed deeply, steadily as I touched him but he didn't touch me back. That was fine. I tugged his shirt the rest of the way off, then the knives which joined his gun on the chair. I reached for his undershirt and he caught my hands, his grip firm but not aggressive.

“I want to watch Mr. Hendricks fuck you. Will you do that for me Harry? Get on your knees and suck him off, then take the whole length of him into you? No matter how much it stretches you open?” It was Marcone's turn to step around me, to wrap his arms around me from behind and drag my body into his. He was fully erect now, of course. The heavy bulge of it resting against the back of my thighs. I ground backwards into him, drawing a quick hiss and a groan from him. “It will, Harry. He has to be so careful when he fucks the men he brings me. Mr. Hendricks is...impressive.”

I grabbed at his arms and shivered, closing my eyes. It felt good, that promising pressure of him against me. The thought of Hendricks pinning me down with his sheer mass and fucking me through the floor filled me with a burning need. Oh yes. It had been a long time.

“How 'bout it, Dresden?” Cujo's voice. I turned my head just enough to look at him, Marcone still wrapped around me and rocking slowly into me. Teasing us both.

“Yeah.” My throat wasn't dry, but I made it sound that way. Dry and needy. Wanting. It was the truth. I really, really wanted to see if Cujo was proportionate. I suspected he was. And I wanted to touch it. To take that massive length in my hands, my mouth. To feel him pressing hard against the too small entrance to my body just before that final push.

Hendricks was watching us. He'd lost his jacket somewhere along the way but kept the gun. He had his fly open and was slowly fisting his cock. I licked my lips and met his eyes for a quick second before I looked away. This would be good. He was huge.

I stepped away from Marcone. He held me for one long minute, letting me feel the strength in his arms before he released me. Hendricks rose as I crossed the room and stripped out of his own holster and shirt before I made it to him. I took a quick second to admire the muscle as it was revealed. Heavily muscled as anyone with eyes knew he would be, but not to the point of over wrought body builder levels. Hendricks clearly had tried to strike a balance between the natural bulk of his build and a need for speed.

He kicked off his shoes and lost the slacks, bending over without a hint of self-consciousness. Again, I could see why. Marcone hadn't been exaggerating. Hendricks was definitely impressive. I gave him a long, appreciative look, smiling as I took it in.

My own clothes landed on the couch, mingled with Hendricks'. Behind me I could hear Marcone moving, settling into one of the chairs.

Time to start the show.

Hendricks followed my lead, dropping back onto the couch with a heavy thump when I pushed at his shoulders. I dropped gracefully to my knees, doing it slowly enough to give Marcone a good long look at the shift of the muscles as I moved.

This close, kneeling between the thick pillars of his legs the heat and scent of Hendricks was heady. I laid my hands on his knees and stroked upwards, enjoying the faint pull of skin against skin; the not-quite ticklish sensation of the hair on his legs as it passed beneath my palms. I leaned in and breathed out slowly, sending a hot gust of air over the swollen head of Hendricks' sex. It twitched at the breeze, pre-come beading up and glistening in the slit. I wrapped my fingers around the crease of his hips, pressing my thumbs in as a hint to hold still.

With Hendricks waiting, the muscles beneath my hands jumping, I reached over and pulled a condom out my pants pocket. It went on easy, though it was stretched almost to the breaking point. I hadn't realized I'd need the XXL size for the evening. I squeezed the ring of my fingers around him where the condom ended a good two inches clear of the base of his cock and he laughed.

“Got my own if you want.”

I licked across the head of his cock, a quick swipe that filled my mouth with the faint taste of rubber. His legs tightened around me, a quick involuntary twitch of muscle that belied the strength in them. Just the head of him, heavy and broad filled my mouth. I inched forward, taking my time. Hendricks' hands descended on my own, pinning them to his thighs in tightly clenched fists. I tugged at his grip, not really trying to get away but giving the illusion of it. Of wanting to but being controlled by overwhelming force.

Hendricks tightened his grip just as I stopped resisting, making it clear that he could make the play a reality. He was strong enough to make me take whatever he wanted to dish out. I flexed in his grip and sucked, sliding down on him until the head of his cock rested on the back of my tongue. I rolled my tongue over the sheathed length of him and then pulled back until I could close my teeth gently just behind the head.

I bit him just hard enough to be felt then let up, taking a deep breath. Hands, strong but smaller than Hendricks' slid up my back, fingers pausing over each knob of my spine. I rolled back into the touch even as I stretched out to take Hendricks back in. I took my time, judging by the speed and movements of Marcone's touch whether I should draw it out or go faster.

He liked it slow. Liked to see the effort it took me to get even part of that swollen length into my mouth. Hendricks' taste eased through the rubber, grew strong enough to overwhelm it until it filled my senses. The heavy, essential maleness of him. I gasped and moaned around the length, my own erection aching pleasantly.

Fingers carded through my hair, tugging my head back until Hendricks popped free of my mouth. The head bumped against my chin, a slick spot of heat. I pulled against Marcone's grip to lick one last time over the length in front of me. Hendricks sighed and traced a circle on my inner wrist with his thumbs.

“Boss?”

“Fuck him, Nathan.”

“How's about it Dresden? You want me inside you?” Hendricks rolled his hips, dragging his cock up over my cheek.

“Yes.” I turned my head, rubbing against him. Marcone made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. He released me though and then I found myself being lifted by the grip on my shoulders, pulled into Hendricks' lap.

He held me up as I slid my legs around to either side of his, settling down until I could feel the sticky wetness along my back. Marcone's hands again, spreading me and then warm heavily slicked fingers were sliding into me. I wrapped my arms around Hendricks' neck and changed the tilt of my hips to make it easier for Marcone to prepare me.

Marcone seemed to have lost his patience. Two fingers became three, then four in the space of minutes. The stretch gave me the familiar, pleasant burn and the familiar feeling that it was good but not enough. A tease telling me how good it would feel if there was just some more. Like an itch that was just slightly out of reach.

I drove back onto Marcone's fingers, uncaring for how it looked. Greedy. Desperate. It was the truth. I wanted Hendricks inside of me. I wanted Marcone inside of me.

A quick shift of positions, the slide of skin against skin and then Hendricks was pressing against me. Marcone pulled me open wider and there was a strange second when both his fingers and Hendricks were inside of me. I gasped and dropped my head to rest on Hendricks' broad shoulder. It felt good; a floating, dizzying sensation. My heart raced, my skin zinging pleasantly.

That heady moment passed and Hendricks was grinding into me. It wasn't a slide, nothing so easy as that. He was too large and I was too tight for that to be possible. It was hard, taking him in. I ground down, clenched down on him and worked my way down slowly. It was good. So good. I didn't have to fake the sounds that clambered out of my throat. The whines and the gasped pleas for more. For Cujo to fucking move. I _wanted_ and I could have it. I would have it.

He never made it all the way inside of me. That would have take more time, more prep. He fucked me shallow; the best we could do at that angle, but he fucked me fast and hard. We moved well together, not easily. Nothing about this was easy and that was the beauty of it. We had to fight to find the rhythm, the right depth, the right angle for him to brush against the spot inside of me that sent sparks of green lightning through my body and dancing across my vision.

All the while Marcone was there. Touching. Hands on my leg, on Hendricks. Sliding between our bodies to caress the bunching muscles of our stomachs, on up to our chests. Touching and tweaking and making it all better. Making it all worse. Delicious, exquisite feeling. Lust finally given an outlet.

I felt my orgasm building, slow and inevitable. My hands clenched at Hendricks' shoulders, slid up his neck and the sides of his head to cradle the back of his skull. His hair was too short to pull, but I tried anyway, drawing a hiss and a hard clench of his hands on my hips. Hendricks slammed up into me, harder and deeper than he had before and I screamed. Close. So very, very close.

“Don't come.” Hendricks' voice growled in my ear. I cursed, half brain dead already and tried to fight myself back. It _hurt_ , I was so close. I had to fumbled a hand down between our bodies and clamp my fingers tight around the base of my cock, cutting myself off.

“Fuck you Cujo. Fuck you.” And I squeezed down on him as hard as I could. Cujo grunted and bit the side of my throat. He came as he did, the odd feeling of heat inside of me but not _inside_ of me making my need to fucking come even worse. I held him in as tightly as I could the whole time, rocking a little and milking it from him. For a second he felt as though he had grown, swollen even larger and I had a vision of him bursting the condom and filling me for real.

I was still rocking when he finished, trying to keep myself on the edge of coming without going over. Hendricks lifted me from him with a whine. I grabbed at his arms, quietly impressed with the strength there. He was sloppy, come dripping out the over stretched end of the condom. Hendricks set me down on the couch beside him. I reached over and trailed a finger through the mess, spreading it over his sweaty, twitching thigh.

“Cujo...”

“You're gonna fuck the Boss, Dresden.”

 _That_ surprised me. I looked around, finding Marcone kneeling on the floor beside us. He was watching me, his eyes dark and wide with lust. I licked my lips and slid off the couch, fingers finding a second condom in my pants pocket.

“Is that it, John? You liked getting fucked?” I crawled over to him, over him as he lay back on the floor. The carpet beneath us was plush. Thick and soft and wonderful. “Nothing wrong with that, Johnny.”

“There is if you're me, Harry.” My name was always torn between being a curse and an invitation. “It's not done.”

“I won't tell anyone if you won't.”

He smiled and pulled me in for another kiss. More aggressive, more demanding. Wound up and ready. I didn't let him win, didn't let him take control. I was the one in charge here. It didn't have to be that way, but it was what he wanted. What he needed. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his face. He knew that being fucked didn't make you the passive partner, but there was a part of him that needed to be able to let go. And this was the avenue he'd chosen for it.

I was more than happy to oblige. I kissed him and found the lube where it lay cradled in his limp hand. Marcone moaned and rolled beneath me, butting the head of his cock against my stomach. I rolled the condom on, slicked myself up. Then I turned back to him.

I took my time with Marcone. One night only. I wanted to make it last.

At one finger he sighed and a hint of tension left his body, leaving him completely limp and relaxed. Something of him saying 'finally'. At two he started to work himself back onto my hand, no longer completely passive. Working for it. I drew that out the longest, making him fight me for the sparks of pleasure that weren't enough.

Marcone could curse like a sailor. I laughed and kissed him as he maligned me and my ancestry all the way back to the caves. Then I pulled out and drove back in with three. He shouted, clawed at any part of me he could reach. There was a sound outside the door and Hendricks padded past us, still completely naked. I heard him saying something through the door and everything returned to silence.

Heh. I spared the one brain cell I had left to wonder what the guys outside thought was going on in here. Then I went back to fucking the man who ran Chicago.

“You gonna fuck 'im anytime soon or should I start picking out China patterns for the two of you?”

“Nathan-” Marcone's voice stuttered out as I spread my fingers and twisted, pressing the ball of my thumb up behind his balls. “Let the man work.”

Cujo laughed and walked away.

I pulled out and moved us, grabbing Marcone's legs and wrapping them around my hips. The angle was awkward but I craned my neck around to give Marcone one last, long wolf grin. I gave him that minute to feel me. His eyes closed, a flush rising up his neck and across his cheeks.

He groaned, pleasure clear on his face as I slid into him. I didn't take my time, just drove forward, pushing my entire length into him in one rush. Marcone exploded into movement, legs wrapped around my thighs with crushing force. He clawed at me, leaving hot stinging tracks and bruises forming behind the trail of his fingers. Fists slammed into the floor beside his hips.

I took him, no finesse, no games. Raw.

We didn't last long. It wasn't that kind of a night.

Marcone came silently, teeth clenched hard enough to crack as he coated us in a warm flood. I reached down and smeared his come up along his stomach, over his chest. I traced the raised line of a scar that ran up the center of his chest and curve up over the line of a pectoral muscle. Someone had tried to fillet him, once upon a time.

I ducked my head and rocked into Marcone's fuck limp body, thinking of the way he had sounded when I took him. Of the way Hendricks had felt inside of me. I could still feel the aching burn of it.

I came, an explosion of lights and sounds. Marcone groaned again, like he could feel it. I laughed, silently. Breathlessly. It was so good. Always, always so good.

We rolled apart, limp and spent and happily warm. I lay there for a long minute, trying to get my heart back under control.

That was it. As soon as I could feel my legs I'd get up on them and clean up. Get going.

Hendricks appeared in my field of vision. I smiled up at him, full of good feeling for the moment.

“I'll get out of your hair in a second, Cujo. Or did you want me to wait until after the guards are gone?”

“Heh.” Cujo knelt down and ran his fingers over my chest, down to the mess on my stomach. Marcone's mess. “You got the wrong idea, Dresden. One night. That means the whole night. You up for it or should I whip out the little blue pills?”

Marcone's hand joined Cujo's. I sighed, still smiling and rested my hand on theirs. One night only. It would be fine.


End file.
